


between us two

by emilieee



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Identity Reveal, LadyNoir - Freeform, Ladynoir | Adrien Agreste as Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng as Ladybug, Marichat, Marichat | Adrien Agreste as Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng, adrienette - Freeform, ladrien
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:00:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23654992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emilieee/pseuds/emilieee
Summary: There are two things Ladybug hates the most about Chat Noir, and two things she loves best.(They may or may not be the same thing.)
Relationships: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug
Comments: 71
Kudos: 429





	1. from the ground up

**Author's Note:**

> Three short drabbles exploring each side of the lovesquare! They're interconnected and chronological if you squint, but can be read on their own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Or, in other words, the Ladynoir chapter. 
> 
> Enjoy!

There were two things Ladybug hated the most about Chat Noir. 

She hated how he flirted with her. Shamelessly, loudly, and always, always out of place. 

Monday mornings were hectic as they were, and the akuma at _five_ didn’t help with anything. It was Tikki who shook Marinette awake, chanting something about Hawkmoth, and Marinette had nearly face-planted onto the floor in an attempt to just get out of bed. Why was Hawkmoth even awake so early? Did he not sleep? Even super-villains had to rest, didn't they? 

Her coordination wasn’t any better as she swung across Paris towards the site of devastation. Sliding behind a rooftop, Ladybug peered at the akuma—a woman who was wreathed in a dress of fire, floating leisurely down the street as she sent tongues of flame lapping at all she could. Despite the distance between them, Ladybug's hiding spot most likely wouldn't last long. 

“Good morning to you, m’lady!” Chat’s voice sounded behind her, and Ladybug whirled around. “Early cat gets the bug, it seems.” 

He was so chipper that Ladybug took it as a personal offence. Even with the chill of the morning air, she was still struggling with keeping her eyes open. Yet here was Chat Noir, looking invigorated and happy and _awake._

“How,” Ladybug grouched, “are you so cheerful _at this time?”_

He winked. “Only because I got to see you.” 

It was too early for this. “The feeling isn’t mutual,” Ladybug shot at him. 

“ _Meow_ ch! I lay my heart bare to you, Bugaboo, and you stomp all over it?” He clutched his chest and tilted his head back to the sky. “That’s cruel, even for you.” 

Ladybug pushed his nose a little ways from her own. He had the uncanny habit of sneaking in too close. “Focus, _chaton_ ,” she chided. “If we finish this quickly enough, I can still go home and sleep before school starts.” 

Chat let out the long-suffering sigh of someone who had gone above and beyond. Ladybug wanted to remind him that it was his own theatrics that often landed him in that position. “If I knew any better, I’d say you didn’t want to spend time with me." He gasped in mock realization. "Is that it? You don't want to spend time with your poor, lonely partner, knowing that _you_ are the only thing that brings him joy in life..." 

Despite her best efforts not to laugh, Ladybug felt a little giggle bubbling when she made the mistake of looking at him. Having long mastered the hurt puppy (or kitty?) expression, Chat had found out that she was especially susceptible to it. The pout on his face transformed into a wide smile when she reached over to scratch his chin, and Chat melted against her hand. It was cute, sometimes, how a little could go such a long way—even if Ladybug would never admit aloud to _anyone_ that she found him cute. 

“Alright,” she said once he looked satisfied. “Let’s go get that akuma now.” 

***

If Ladybug could choose the thing she hated even more than the flirting, it was the self-sacrificing. 

She could live with the puns. She could live with the flirting. She could live with Chat trying to steal a kiss from her every once in a while. But Ladybug wasn’t sure if she could live with herself if Chat Noir were ever gone. 

The akuma had been a bad one—it was still rampaging around the city, wreaking havoc. But none of that mattered, because the worst and only part Ladybug could focus on at the moment was Chat Noir’s state as they limped into the alley with his arm around her shoulders. 

The red of his blood was barely visible against the red of her suit, but Ladybug could _feel_ it, slick against her hands. She could see it too, the scene imprinted against her eyelids, just as well as she could still hear Chat’s cry of pain when the blow meant for her had hit him instead. And now, the smell of blood permeated through the air, clogging all of her senses. The memory tore through her head again and again: the blur of the silver blade heading towards her transforming into black and blonde and green, the agony she had braced herself for that never came. All of that lay manifest in her partner’s state at the very moment, and Ladybug thought that she had never felt more frightened in her entire life. 

“M’lady,” Chat rasped. “I think we’re far enough. Can we—can we sit down?” 

“Yeah.” Her voice shook, and Ladybug tried to school it back to normal. “Just… can you?” 

Chat nodded dazedly. She gripped his arms as he eased himself onto the ground, a quiet groan escaping when he stretched the wound at his side. He ended up against the wall, head tilted back and teeth clenched as he tried to quell the blood flow with his hands. 

“ _Chaton,”_ Ladybug whispered, cupping his face. Her hands left smudges of red against his cheek, the contrast stark and frightening. “Don't close your eyes.” 

A slit of emerald green showed as he peered at her from under his lashes. A smile-turned-grimace appeared on his face. “I’m okay,” he reassured her. “Really.” 

“You’ve been _stabbed!”_

“Worse could happen,” Chat replied, a hysterical little giggle bubbling. Then he winced. “Shit. That hurts.” 

Ladybug was torn between laughing in incredulity or smacking him. In the end, she did neither but tried to staunch the bleeding wound on his side. Her stupid, brave, loyal, self-sacrificing partner. She hated it. She hated _him._

Somewhere in Paris, the akuma was still on the rampage. Every second counted, but Ladybug couldn’t bring herself to care. Instead of leaving like she should've, she gripped Chat's fingers and clung to him like a lifeline. Silly, she thought, because _he_ was the one who was bleeding out on the ground. 

It was her partner who ultimately broke the silence. “If this is all it took for you to hold my hand,” he joked, “I might’ve chosen to get stabbed more.” 

Ladybug glared at him. “Stupid cat,” she hissed. “Make another joke out of this and I’ll make sure you regret it.” 

“Still threatening me in this trying time, m’lady?” 

He smiled at her again, crimson on his cheeks, green eyes cloudy. Yet somehow, in that state, he still managed to look at her like she was the only thing that mattered. As if he hadn’t just been skewered through a supposedly indestructible super suit; as if he wasn’t bleeding out in a random alley somewhere. As if this wasn't all her fault. 

Ladybug stared at him for a little while longer. Her responsibility as a hero was but a dull thrum in the back of her head, demanding an answer she refused to give. She knew she had to leave, but there was no way she could simply abandon Chat as she went to hunt down the akuma. 

As if he could read her thoughts, Chat Noir nodded at the rooftops. “Go,” he encouraged. “I’ll still be right here when you’re done.” 

When Ladybug still didn’t move, his bloodied, clawed fingers slid on top of hers. “Go, Ladybug,” he reiterated. “I’ll be waiting.” 

She stared into his steady, unwavering gaze, then surged forward and hugged him. 

A small noise of surprise left Chat when her arms first wrapped around his neck. After a couple of seconds, he slackened into her gasp, cheek pressed against hers. Ladybug breathed in his scent—it was almost overpowered by the metallic smell of blood, but still faintly there—and told herself that he would be fine. He would be fine, because he _had to_ be fine. 

It felt like a second yet eternity when she finally pulled away. “Go,” he repeated for the third time, “and save the world, m’lady.”

She hated him—oh, how she hated him—but every time, she also loved him a little more. 

***

There were two things Ladybug loved the most about Chat Noir. 

She loved how he flirted with her. Shamelessly, loudly, and always, always out of place.

He found her perched on a rooftop overlooking the Seine. The night was now quiet, illuminated by streetlights. Ladybug had been watching the river sweep by, the distorted reflection of the cityscape imprinted fluidly on its surface. Nighttime Paris was her favourite—there was something beautifully unreal about it that always soothed her after a bad day. And today had been a particularly terrible one. 

There was a quiet _thump_ behind her. Ladybug jumped, surprised, before a clawed hand rested on her shoulder. “Relax, Bugaboo,” Chat Noir laughed. “It’s just me."

“Oh, great,” she grumbled. “There goes my peace and quiet.” 

Chat, accustomed to her dry jabs, still feigned offence. It had long turned into a little game between them, to see who would give in first, and so far both had been too stubborn to yield. “So many _purr_ sonal attacks,” he protested, a hand over his heart. “Why, m'lady _,_ if I didn’t know any better, I’d think it’s because you’re too embarrassed to admit you want me here.” 

“In your dreams, kitty.” 

He sat down next to her. For a little while, both of them didn’t speak, and Ladybug continued staring forward, trying and failing to soak in the serenity. Chat Noir remained silent as well. For someone who could be so obnoxiously loud he also knew when to shut up, and Ladybug appreciated that about him. 

“Ladybug.” Chat finally spoke up. “What’s on your mind?”

“How do you know I have something on my mind?” 

He drew a leg up and rested his cheek against his knee, turning to look at her. Ladybug met his gaze as well. His green eyes, glowing slightly in the dark, were surprisingly serious. “Well, for one, you’re here. This is your sad spot. Your go-where-I’m-angry spot.” 

“I come here when I’m not sad too,” Ladybug protested. 

“Let me finish. Secondly, you didn’t put your heart into rejecting me tonight. Something’s wrong.” 

“ _That’s_ how you tell?” 

He shrugged. “Worked, didn’t it?” 

A shaky laugh escaped her. “It’s personal,” Ladybug said. “I—I can’t really say. But you’re right. I’m glad you’re here. I came up here to be alone, but realized that I didn’t really want to be by myself. So, thank you.” 

When he didn’t reply immediately, she wondered if she had hit another sore spot when she refused to talk about her personal life. Before she could apologize, Chat opened his hand and stretched it open in front of her. 

It took a little too long for her to realize the offer, but the moment she did, she accepted the invitation. His fingers wrapped around hers, tight but not too tight, steady and warm and anchoring. He didn’t say it aloud, but Ladybug could hear the implication behind his actions: _I’m here for you no matter what._ And she knew—even if she couldn’t talk to him about school, about her friends, about Adrien—he would be ready to listen or to offer silent support. 

Comfortable silence blanketed them. Between Chat’s hand, the whisper of the wind and rippling of the Seine, some of the exhaustion and frustration from the day began to slowly ebb away. 

“Ladybug,” Chat began. 

She looked at him again. “Hm?” 

“I’m so glad _Eiffel_ for you.” 

It took at least a couple of seconds for the pun to sink in, and then a giggle escaped Ladybug before she could stop it. Before she knew it, she couldn’t stop laughing, doubling over, howling until tears formed in the corners of her eyes and her stomach ached. 

It was so _stupid,_ and so… Chat. Only Chat Noir could possibly dream of such terribly perfect timing yet know the precise, dumb thing to tell her. 

“I hate you,” she wheezed. 

“Nah,” he grinned. “You love me.” 

Ladybug couldn’t bring herself to disagree. 

*** 

If there was anything better than the out of place, over-the-top flirting, it was the way he always had her back. 

Sure, they had their disagreements or the occasional fallout. But when she needed him most, Chat Noir never failed to be there. 

Sometimes it was loud—he would come in whooping and shouting and being obnoxious, making his presence known—and other times, he would be silent, blocking what she couldn’t, making sure she wouldn’t be hurt, a steady shadow at her back. No matter what it was, Chat was always there at the right moment: not too early, not too late. 

The mob of reporters were getting overwhelming as Ladybug edged back. The questions didn’t stop: where was Hawkmoth now? How long would it be before she and Chat Noir stopped him for good? Although her powers restored everything in the end, how much longer did they have to live in fear? Before she could even think of the answer to one question, there was another, then another, then another until they turned into a pile of demands that seemed to have only one answer: _I don’t know._

Because Ladybug _didn’t_ know. Because Ladybug _couldn’t._ Because no matter how hard she tried, it seemed as if Hawkmoth was always a step in front of them, and they just kept falling further and further behind. The noise grew until it seemed to engulf her like a wave, and Ladybug was drowning in their demands and fears and—

“Hey!” A flash of black dropped into her vision. Suddenly, Chat Noir was shielding her from the questions and cameras. “Back off. Have any of you ever heard of personal space?” 

In his presence, a semblance of common sense returned. Chat, having managed to create a little bubble of space for them, was now deflecting questions in the most obnoxious way possible. As the wave of noise grew taller, Ladybug was hit with the urge to leave. She _needed_ to leave. 

“M’lady,” he murmured, quiet enough that only she could hear. “Shall we go?” 

Ladybug swallowed thickly. “Yes, please.” 

An arm wrapped snugly around her waist the moment the words left her mouth. Despite being perfectly capable of keeping up on her own, Ladybug let Chat lift her. He gave the crowd a mock solute, a grin hanging on his lips, before his baton shot skywards. 

Wind tore at them, and Chat let out a shout as gravity took hold and they plummeted down for a couple seconds. They vaulted over Paris, over waving children and surprised adults, until Chat finally landed on a bridge overlooking the Seine. In front of them, Andre Glacier’s ice cream truck parked. Chat set her down gently. “Give me a second,” he said. “I’ll be right back.” 

Ladybug waited as Chat approached Andre. They were talking in too low a tone for her to hear, but not long after, Chat was returning with an ice cream in hand, two spoons stuck in it. He offered her a hand. 

When Ladybug didn’t respond, Chat took the initiative to pick up her wrist and lead her away. “They must’ve done a number on you if you’re not even rejecting me,” he joked, but it was half-hearted. “Come on. Let’s find a bench to eat this on.” 

Minutes later, they were seated facing the Seine, with Ladybug clutching the ice cream. Mint chocolate chip with strawberry—a strange combination. Stranger still was how good it tasted. Chat let her eat in silence, let her thoughts process, let her take the time she needed. It was only when she realized that the two spoons meant the ice cream was for the both of them that she actually handed it to him, sheepish. 

“Sorry,” Ladybug mumbled. “I almost finished it.” 

Chat shrugged. “It’s fine. I’m not that hungry anyway.”

He took it nonetheless, scooping the mix of mint chocolate chip and strawberry. The ice cream, slightly melted, swirled into a fusion of green and pink on his spoon. 

“Thank you.” Ladybug finally spoke up. “I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.” 

“Well,” Chat replied around a mouthful. “You could’ve told them all to fuck off because you’ve done much more than they have the past couple of months.” 

Her breath escaped her in a choked laugh. “Chat!” 

“What? It’s true.” 

“Paris’ superhero shouldn’t be trash talking anyone,” she scolded. 

“Well, for you, m’lady, I’ll do anything.” He stuck out his tongue, still coated with ice cream, and Ladybug let out a shriek and backed away from him. 

“Gross! _Chat!”_

He burst out laughing. Chat’s laughter had always been contagious, wonderfully bright and sunny and cheerful, and Ladybug found herself laughing with him. They laughed until Chat tipped over their ice cream, the only thing left being melted sludge, and it splattered unappetizingly against the sidewalk. Then, one look at each other, and both of them started again. 

By the time Ladybug was finally getting herself back under control, a bit of the weight had lifted. In her periphery she could see that Chat was still watching her, a smile on his face, and Ladybug tried to ignore his expression until she could no longer pretend. 

“Stop staring at me,” she complained. “It’s—” _Distracting._

The words left her. Because there he was, looking at her with such affection and trust and adoration in his eyes that Ladybug was certain that she, of all people, didn’t deserve it. Everything she was going to say seemed to disappear, and she stared at Chat Noir, stumped and breathless. 

As if he knew he had caught her attention, he smiled again. “Everything they said today,” he started, “throw it away. Don’t listen to it or keep any of it to heart.” 

Ladybug jolted from her reverie. “Chat—” 

“Let me finish. Paris sees you saving them, but if they can’t be thankful for it, that’s on them. Don’t let anyone let you think you haven’t done enough. _No one._ Especially not yourself. And don’t ever say you don’t deserve every bit of praise you get, m’lady, because you deserve it all.” 

A response welled up, but it didn’t make it past her lips. Ladybug stared at Chat with wide eyes, mute, as he took her hands. “We’ll get Hawkmoth together,” he promised. “When we do, there’s no way he’ll be prepared for what’s coming for him.” 

There were still no words Ladybug could say, but she smiled. Between the two of them, sometimes words weren’t needed. 

Because even if all of Paris were to burn, as long as she had her partner by her side, things would turn out fine in the end.   
  



	2. what if we already are (what we're dying to become)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawkmoth’s defeat should mark a joyous occasion for Paris’ superheroes, but instead, Chat Noir finds his entire world breaking apart. 
> 
> (Marinette’s determined to help him build it back together, piece by piece.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Or, in other words, the Marichat (mostly) chapter! 
> 
> Identity reveal in this chapter!

The whole world was made of fire—suffocating, terrifying fire—yet Adrien was drowning. 

He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. Even as the rest of them apprehended Hawkmoth (no, not Hawkmoth: Gabriel Agreste, his _father_ ), Adrien didn’t help. Pieces of glass from the battle littered the ground, chaos spread all around, unfurling _inside_ him, and the yawning pit of horror and fear and disbelief opened wider. 

Hawkmoth _was his father._

He watched as the butterfly pin was taken, watched as Hawkmoth was led away, watched as his father’s lips moved, addressing him in words that didn’t reach Adrien’s ears. Plagg, who had hovered a little ways away after he had released his transformation, flew up to Adrien and nestled in his hair. If he offered any words of comfort, Adrien didn't hear them. 

He wasn’t sure how long he stood there, drowning and drowning and _drowning_ like there was no end to how deep the water could drag him down. The only breath of air was when the familiar sight of red and black dropped into his line of vision and Ladybug’s hand rested on his shoulder. 

“Adrien,” she said. 

_Adrien._ His name seemed to ring in his ears, growing louder until his head felt like it was going to burst. _Adrien Agreste._ She knew. Ladybug _knew_ who he was. 

Adrien Agreste, son of Gabriel Agreste—son of Hawkmoth. 

The water once again dragged him under, and Adrien felt himself whisper the words of transformation before he was fleeing as fast as he could. Glass cracked under his feet like bones. Ladybug’s shouts for him to stay only made him run faster, and then Chat Noir was scrambling blindly through Paris, wind tearing at his face and guilt tearing even more viciously at his heart. He didn’t know where he was going, but all he knew was that he needed to get away. 

For a very long time, the city blurred for Chat. Something seemed to carry him along, kept him going until he reached his destination. 

There. The school. Perched on the roof, Chat looked down. Ladybug’s magic had fixed everything, it seemed, because not a brick was out of place. The crack that ran through the courtyard was gone. Everything was the same, even if nothing was anymore. 

Inside him, a hurricane of emotions continued to swirl, each demanding their own share of his misery. They mixed and danced until Chat couldn’t tell them apart, but it didn’t matter. After all, they were only there to serve as a reminder of who his father was. And, as an extension, who _he_ was. 

Chat blinked, expecting to feel a prickling in his eyes—anything—but no tears came. Gabriel Agreste had always been a quiet, driven man, even when Emilie was still alive. But there had always been memories of better days, when his father had put aside his work to lift him up on his shoulders, running around the house and laughing while his mother chased them with a broom. There was the time his father had attended his piano recital, watching fondly with his mother tucked in the crook of his arm, standing up to clap when Adrien finished. There was the time they had decided to bake together as a family and eight-year-old Adrien splashed a bowl of melted butter over Gabriel by accident and received a bowl of flour over his head as revenge. 

Such warm memories, once treasured pieces Adrien clung onto. Now they were tainted with new ones: seeing his mother in the glass coffin; Hawkmoth’s detransformation falling to reveal his father; the way he had attacked Ladybug, his friends and _him._

A soft _zing_ sounded behind him, and Chat whirled around in fright and surprise. Ladybug stood, blue eyes like the sky, even though the sky today was covered in a dark, angry grey. 

A wave of terror swept over Chat. What did _she_ think of him now that she knew the boy underneath the suit? It had always been Chat Noir which he favoured over Adrien Agreste. Who would she see when she looked at him? Her partner Chat Noir, or Adrien the son of Hawkmoth? Or maybe Chat Noir, son of Hawkmoth? 

“Stay away,” he managed to croak, scrambling to his feet. Above their heads, thunder clapped and lightning streaked. A storm was on its way. “I’m—I’m—” The words caught in his throat, refusing to come out. 

Ladybug raised her hands in a placating gesture. “Adrien,” she ventured, and he flinched back violently. She tried again. “Chat. It’s okay.” 

“You know who I am.” The words were shameful, and he wished desperately they weren’t true. 

Ladybug’s blue eyes remained locked with his, anchoring his feet to the ground, not letting him flee again. Then, without looking away, she whispered, “Tikki, spots off.” 

As the bright pink light of her transformation faded, the first drops of rain began to fall as well. Before him stood Ladybug—no, not Ladybug. Before him was Marinette Dupain-Cheng. 

Chat’s breath caught in his throat. His father momentarily forgotten, he took in the sight of her: black hair tied by red ribbons, brilliant blue eyes. The shape of her face. The sweep of her bangs, which were beginning to get soaked by the rain. Everything about her was so, _so_ familiar. 

How had he been so blind? Marinette, bringing the class pastries from her family’s bakery. Ladybug’s kind smile as she spoke gently, softly to akuma victims. Marinette, laughing as she kicked his ass once more in Ultimate Mecha Strike. Ladybug, whooping as they raced across Paris. Marinette, full of warmth and love and determination and a kindness that extended to everyone. Ladybug, always selfless and brave and _beautiful._

Of _course._ Who else could Ladybug be but Marinette? 

And how vast the chasm between them. Marinette Dupain-Cheng didn’t deserve Adrien Agreste as her partner. 

The thought swept through him and seized hold of his heart. With all the willpower he had left, he ripped his gaze from hers and turned to run again. 

He only managed a single step forward before a hand latched onto his wrist. Before Chat could go anywhere, Marinette was tugging him back, rain streaking down her cheeks like tears. She said, “Stay.” 

A choked gasp left him, and with it, all the struggle dissipated. Chat let Marinette tug him towards her, collapsing into her arms as she wrapped them around his body, tight and unrelenting. The storm threatened to tear him away, but she clung to him so strongly that he was anchored. 

“Chat,” she repeated. “ _Adrien._ It’s okay.” 

“It’s not,” he told her. “It’s not. You—you know who I am. I’m—my father—Hawkmoth’s my _father.”_

Marinette didn’t let go of him. The smell of apples and vanilla all around her—it was Ladybug’s scent; Marinette’s scent.

“And you,” he continued. “You’re Marinette. How was I so _stupid?”_

“You’re not stupid,” she replied. Slowly, she removed his hands around her, only to put him at arm's length so she could meet his eyes. “You are every bit the person I would want you to be, _chaton.”_

“You don’t need to say that to make me feel better.” 

A laugh left Marinette as well, but it was quieter, maybe a little sad. She gave his shoulder a little push down, and Chat sat at her command. His body felt too numb, too out of control to resist. “Let me tell you a story. About you.” 

_About me._ What good story could there to be tell about _him?_ What a tale they could spin; Paris’ protector finding out the person Paris needed protection from was his own flesh and blood. 

“When I first met you,” she began, “as Adrien Agreste, I hated you.” 

The rain continued to splash down, and Chat felt his heart grow cold. Of course she did. Because how could Marinette, light incarnate, love somebody like him? All those days of pining after Ladybug, and he had never realized just _how_ far apart they truly were. 

“Then,” Marinette continued, “you gave me your umbrella when it was raining, and I fell in love with you.” 

His breath caught in his throat. When he looked at Marinette’s eyes, they were wide and serious. 

_She fell in love with_ me. 

“Why?” he whispered. 

Marinette placed a hand on his cheek, letting the rain gather on her palms as it streaked down both their faces. “Because you were kind,” she replied. “Because you were generous enough to give a stranger your umbrella when it was raining. I began to notice you more after that, and I realized that you were so… you shined so bright. Even though you were famous, you were still humble. Even though you had the best grades in the class, you never bragged about it. There’s never a person you’ve been unkind to, even though they were unkind to you. The more I knew you, the more I loved you.” 

The words repeated in Chat’s head like a broken record. “You loved me,” he echoed. “You loved me. As Adrien.” 

“Yes,” Marinette agreed. “I loved you as Adrien. And I loved you as Chat Noir, as my partner and my other half. Except I didn’t want to admit it because I thought that I could only be in love with Adrien Agreste. Now that I see you, I don’t know how I could ever have imagined it to be anybody else.” 

Chat continued to stare at her. Marinette met his gaze squarely, determination written all over her face. Every word she had said was the truth, no matter how ludicrous and outlandish and surreal it sounded. Just like the truth that his father was Hawkmoth, but this—this truth spoke of a kinder, more hopeful reality. 

“Do you love me still?” he finally asked. “After you know who my father is?” 

“I don’t care who your father is,” Marinette replied immediately, firmly, before he could even start fearing her answer. “You are not your father, and you’ve more than proven that to me. You’ve more than proven that to _everyone._ Especially yourself, Adrien.” 

He breathed. For the first time since he had found out Hawkmoth’s identity, he truly, deeply, breathed. Then, “Plagg, claws in.” 

A flash of light later, it was Adrien standing in front of Marinette. He searched her face for any signs of regret, any disgust, but all he could see was understanding and kindness. 

“Adrien.” Marinette’s voice was barely above a whisper. She raised a hand to his face again, wiping at the water that kept on dripping down, drenching his clothing. “You have no idea how happy I am that it’s you.” 

She pulled him into another hug and this time, Adrien let himself fall right into it. Her arms remained tight around him, and even as the storm around them raged, the one inside seemed to quiet down ever so slightly. 

“None of us care that Hawkmoth’s your father,” she breathed. “It doesn’t matter. It won’t change the fact that you’re loved, Adrien. Just know that.” 

_Loved._ The word pierced through him, finally breaking the dam he had been labouring so hard to hold up. He wept into Marinette’s shoulder out of pain and fright and relief and happiness all at once. _Loved._ It shattered something inside him, something already broken, and broke it so completely, so _wonderfully._ And Adrien realized that he believed Marinette—believed wholly with all of his bruised, fractured heart that what she said was true. That she loved him, as Adrien Agreste, as Chat Noir, as Gabriel Agreste’s son. 

“It’s okay,” Marinette repeated yet again. “And it’s okay if you’re not okay.” 

He sobbed until the tears ran out altogether and even after that, Adrien clung to Marinette like a lifeline. She didn’t let go either, hands soothing against his back, whispering quiet words that Adrien could finally believe. 

Adrien was the one who pulled back that time. Marinette smiled at him, her face radiant, and he tried to mirror it. “Look,” he said. “I got your clothing all drenched with my tears.” 

She wiped wet hair out of her face and laughed. “Looks like I did the same to you. Seems to me that we’re even on this one, kitty.” 

Surprised delight unfurled in him hearing her call him that nickname. Then Adrien was smiling wider, more genuinely. His father was still a weight on his heart, but Marinette was there, holding his hand and not letting him carry it alone. 

“I’m glad it was you,” Adrien admitted at last. Thunder rumbled, directly above their heads. “But at the same time, of _course_ it was you.” 

“Yes,” Marinette agreed. “Although look at how dumb we were. We couldn’t look past our own crushes to see the person we loved loved us right back.”

 _The person we loved._ Adrien’s heart still stammered at that, leaped and soared and _sang_ to hear such words from her. He wasn’t sure he would ever, ever hear it enough.

Marinette’s laugh suddenly cut through the air. It chimed like bells. “I would get so nervous around you,” she recalled. “I would stammer, freeze up, and could never look you in the eye. To think you were Chat Noir the whole time, and I was turning down the same boy I couldn’t even form a coherent sentence around because how hopelessly in love I was. Isn’t it ridiculous?” 

“I can do you one better. I spent so much time convincing myself that you were just a friend and I couldn’t be in love with you because I loved Ladybug, but you _were_ Ladybug all along.” Then he paused. “Wait. That means those pictures in your room…” 

Adrien watched as Marinette’s face turned a dark shade of pink. “... they weren’t for your so called designer purposes, were they?” He feigned surprise. “Why, did you have a _crush_ on me, m’lady?” 

She smacked his arm. “Shut up.” 

He sighed. “I guess all the times I professed my love to you might’ve not actually been for vain. It’s truly touching.” 

“ _Shut up,”_ Marinette growled, now crimson. “You insufferable cat—” 

She broke off, seemed to remember something, then scrunched her face into an expression of determination. Before Adrien could figure out what was happening, Marinette snatched a handful of his shirt and tugged him down to her height, lips brushing over his. 

It was all over in a second. Adrien gaped at her like a fish out of water and Marinette tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, a shy smile spreading across her face. “For what it’s worth,” she murmured. “Maybe it’s—maybe it’s too early to say this, and it’s okay if you don’t return the sentiment, but I want to spend my life with you. With Adrien _and_ Chat Noir. As Marinette _and_ Ladybug.” 

This time, it was joy that bloomed through his chest, full and bright. “Yes,” he breathed. “Yes. Me too.”

Marinette’s smile was the sun, her eyes the sky, and Adrien’s world was bright and clear despite the rain. She held out a hand to him, and he took it. 

_It’s okay if you’re not okay._ The road to healing was a long one, and Adrien knew that it wasn’t overnight that he could finally come to peace with the fact that his father had been Hawkmoth. It wasn’t overnight that he could understand the reasons, to forgive and let go. But that was okay. 

Broken, he might be. But broken could be fixed, and if anyone could help him do so, it was Marinette. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry didn't mean to dump this angstfest on everyone but like oops lol


	3. i love you a latte

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Running on 5 cups of coffee and the extra boost her transformation gives her, Marinette’s determined to finish her project before the sun rises. 
> 
> (Adrien’s just here to distract her, and honestly, it’s working.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Or, in other words, the Ladrien (kind of) chapter. Also Adrienette. 
> 
> (it was supposed to be ladrien but things don't always work out like they should!! hahahhaHAHA there's three love square ships here if u squint)  
> Set 5-6 years after the last chapter! 
> 
> heads up: literally just tooth-rotting fluff, my apologies :')

Marinette was stressed. 

Her desk was a testament of that: it was littered with papers, candy wrappers, string, fabric and the coffee stain from two hours ago that she hadn’t bothered wiping up. The flat wasn’t any better. Like a risky game of jenga, the sink was piled high with dirty dishes. Takeout boxes were stacked just as precariously in the trash. Her closet, a complete and utter nightmare, fared no better. Marinette had a headache just _looking_ at the mess, and thinking about having to clean it made her nauseous. So she just _didn’t_ clean it. 

As Adrien often told her, she was awful at dealing with stress. 

It didn’t help that the project was due in three days. Marinette had been slaving through it for weeks on end, but the last design was particularly difficult. There was always _something_ that didn’t seem right, but she could never pinpoint it. Now, as the end product was slowly but surely beginning to assemble, and Marinette didn’t have time for distractions. And tidying and doing dishes and sleeping were all distractions. 

The clock read two thirty in the morning. If she worked hard enough, she could be finished by dawn. Then, she could sleep all through the morning, wake up in the afternoon, and start the revisions. It was a relatively foolproof plan if she didn’t count the fact that she might not be able to make it until morning. 

The fifth cup of coffee just wasn’t doing it. Marinette needed something stronger. 

For a moment, she sat still in her chair, contemplating her options. Then a burst of sleep deprived brilliance struck Marinette. 

“Tikki,” she called. 

Her kwami had dozed off on Marinette’s desk rather early in the night, but she startled awake quickly with a, “Yes?” 

“I’m going to transform,” Marinette decided. “It’ll fight off the sleep better.” 

“Don’t you think sleeping would be a better option? Then you can work on it in the morning!” 

“Sleeping is _not_ an option.” Especially not when she was in the final run, and all she needed to do was finish… 

Tikki gave her a look that Marinette was well accustomed to: _bad idea, but your choice._ Given that there was no verbal or physical resistance, she took it as an agreement, no matter how reluctant. Tikki had witnessed firsthand how wonderfully terrible Marinette was with deadlines and always did her best to accommodate. 

“Tikki, spots on!” 

A flash of pink later, Marinette was suited and ready to work again. She downed the coffee for good measure, fought back a yawn, and positioned herself in front of the sewing machine. 

“I’m Ladybug,” she said aloud, turning to her sewing machine. “I’m Ladybug, and I’m going to finish this—” 

A tapping sound interrupted her. Ladybug whirled around. Even her muddled brain could comprehend that if somebody were to see Ladybug sitting in Marinette’s apartment, the dots wouldn’t be so hard to connect. 

To her relief, it was a familiar pair of green eyes that blinked at her through the window. Chat Noir was crouching on the ledge, mouthing something that Ladybug couldn’t hear. She scrambled from her chair, nearly knocking her cup down in the process, and slid open the window. 

A gust of cool, night breeze swept inside. For a moment, she wondered if leaving the window would help her stay more awake… then a particularly strong gust sent the papers on her desk flying out of order, and she slammed it shut behind Chat. 

“What are you doing here?” Ladybug asked when a semblance of order had been restored. 

“Couldn’t sleep,” he replied simply. “What about you?” 

She winced. “Final project.” 

He eyed the room contemplatively, and it hit Ladybug just how messy everything was. She let out a mortified squeak of shock, but the dirty dishes and takeout boxes and unfolded laundry weren’t going anywhere. “Out!” she shrieked. “Oh my God, _out!”_

“Plagg, claws in!” 

Before Ladybug could shove him back through the window out of embarrassment, it was no longer Chat but Adrien that stood there, hands raised in a placating gesture. She froze. She couldn’t send him tumbling down thirteen stories like she could with Chat Noir.

He was donning the Ladybug pajamas he was so unabashedly proud of, hair loose and messy—his _Chat_ hair. He definitely looked like he had rolled right out of bed. 

Slowly, Ladybug backed down with a groan. “Don’t you _dare_ comment about the state of the apartment. I _know_ it’s bad.” 

“Wasn’t going to, m’lady.” 

“As long as you have food in your fridge,” a grumpy voice interrupted, “I don’t mind how messy it is either.” 

Ladybug raised an eyebrow at Plagg as he zipped out from Adrien’s hair. “This idiot here couldn’t sleep, so he dragged _me_ up, and for _what? Oh, Plagg, I just want some fresh air! Plagg, please? I’ll buy you extra camembert. Plagg, you know how my insomnia acts up sometimes.”_ Plagg retched. “Fresh air my ass. I wouldn’t have agreed if I knew he was just going to be sticking his tongue down your throat.” 

Adrien’s face went pink. “Plagg!”

“Shut up and feed me.”

“Glutton,” Adrien shot back, sticking his tongue out petulantly at his kwami. “Marinette, do you have food? And why are _you_ transformed?” 

“Uh,” she managed. She tried to think what was left in her fridge, but her brain wasn’t functioning enough for it. “I _think_ I can focus better as Ladybug? Anyway, there’s cookies in the cabinets for Tikki. Plagg can either eat that or the raw meat in the freezer.” 

Plagg, bemoaning how he hated Adrien, floated off to the cabinets in search of sweets. 

Meanwhile, Adrien rounded her desk to lean on the other (slightly cleaner) side. “How many cups of coffee?” 

Ladybug returned to the sewing machine. “Five. I think it stopped working.” 

“I think it’s because you’ve drank so much coffee these past couple years that you’ve slowly built up immunity to the caffeine. Did you sleep last night?” 

“Yes.” She paused, counting the time. “Two and a half hours.” 

Adrien looked horrified. “Marinette!” he exclaimed. “You still have three days to finish. You need to take a break.” 

He was right, but while she did need the break, the project also needed to be finished. Sure, there were three more days, but Ladybug needed to have the wiggle room for revisions and checking and double-checking for perfection. 

“If I finish tonight, I have time to relax and revise without stressing about it,” she explained, although Adrien looked less convinced after each word. “I’m already behind schedule, since I’ve been working on the last dress _forever_ and this is the fourth try.” 

“That doesn’t change the fact that you look like you’re about to pass out.” He gave her desk another scan as if to prove the point. “Seriously, Marinette, you’ll produce better work if you’re well rested and _not_ running on caffeine.” 

Once again, Adrien was right. She could barely go ten minutes without scrubbing her face with water or rubbing her eyes and yawning. Then a wave of panic rushed over her. The dress she had been working on had been made when she was _not_ well rested, which meant it wasn’t under the category of _better work,_ which meant she should redo it all from scratch so she could submit her best quality work—

“Marinette,” Adrien interrupted like he knew exactly what she was going to say. “I know what you’re thinking. Don’t do anything you’ll regret. Just _sleep.”_

“But—” 

Before she could formulate the rest of the protest, Adrien had scooped her out of the chair. Ladybug was too tired to put up a struggle. “Have you eaten any fruits or vegetables in the past couple of days?” he demanded as he carried her towards the bedroom. “Wait, have you even been eating three meals? Have you been eating _two_ meals?” 

Ladybug scrunched her nose. “What are you, my mom?” 

“Your mom would ask you the same,” he shot back immediately. “Seriously, Mari, you need to take care of yourself more.” 

Too tired to argue with him, she shut her eyes and curled up against his chest. Sleep was a dangerous thing; once she gave into it, there was no way out. “S’okay,” she mumbled. “You’ll take care of me.” 

“Then you better let me do my job.” 

She giggled. “You _are_ like my mom.” 

“And as your mother, I’m putting you to bed.” 

_Bed._ The word sounded comforting and lovely and warm ( _Adrien_ was all that as well). The last thing she felt was Adrien setting her gently down on the mattress, pulling the duvet over her, and then the rest was oblivion. 

***

Marinette woke up to the smell of breakfast wafting into her room. Which was a rare commodity because breakfast was her favourite meal to skip. 

The bed was comfortable and warm, blankets tucked all around her. Given her penchant for kicking her covers off in the middle of the night, that meant she had been recently tucked in, and—

 _Adrien._ Everything came flooding back. Adrien was here in her apartment—her unpresentable, messy apartment—and he had somehow coaxed her to sleep last night when she could’ve spent the time finishing up her project. He had also managed to get her to detransform, because she was once again wearing the same clothes she had been wearing for _at least two days._

Marinette shot out of bed, now properly horrified. She scrambled. She flailed. She stubbed her toe on the drawer and fled into the living room, where the delightful smell of breakfast was the strongest. 

Adrien was standing at the stove, wearing her pink apron, still in his Ladybug pajamas. That wasn’t the most surprising part, though: every mess in the kitchen and living room had been straightened, cleaned, or disposed of. 

Marinette gaped. 

Having noticed her presence, he turned around and waved, spatula still in hand. Sunlight slanted through the windows and onto the couch—the couch that just last night was so full of clothing and papers that no one could sit on—which was now clear. Only cushions sat in their rightful place. It looked like he had performed a full-on exorcism on the mess. 

“Adrien,” Marinette managed aloud, “what happened here?” 

He flipped an egg. “I tidied up a little when I woke up this morning,” he replied. “And, uh, restocked a bit of your groceries. You were running low.” He scratched the back of his neck sheepishly. “In full honesty, I only got up because Plagg was yelling at me about having no proper sustenance, so I decided to clean to pass the time.” 

The little black kwami floated out as if summoned. “Just because Tikki likes cookies,” he sniffed, “doesn’t mean I do.” As if to prove his point, he waved a whole wheel of camembert. Marinette stuck out her tongue at Plagg before turning back to Adrien. 

“You had time to clean _and_ get groceries?” she asked. “There was… _a lot_ of stuff around here. Like, a lot. It would’ve taken me at least hours to tidy.” 

Adrien transferred the eggs from the pan to the two plates. He gestured at the counter, where the digital clock sat. “It’s eleven, so I had three hours to do all of that.” 

_Eleven._ The realization dropped like a bomb and Marinette nearly screamed. “ _Eleven?”_ she yelped, whirling on Adrien. “Why did you let me sleep for so long? Why didn’t you wake me up? I wasn’t even supposed to sleep last night and I’m not finished and this means—”

  
“Marinette, relax!” 

She slowed to a halt. “You still have time,” Adrien continued soothingly, in the specific tone he used every time he needed to calm her down. “I let you sleep in because you need to be well-rested to put out your best work, _and_ you need to eat a healthy, balanced meal in order to focus later. You can work all day _afterwards._ But right now, we’re going to have brunch together, and you’re not going to think of your project until we finish.” 

Marinette didn’t _want_ to wait. The fact that she was so close _yet not quite_ made her uncomfortably jittery and the only remedy would be to _work work work_ so she could just get it done with, but that wasn’t rational _or_ reasonable. Besides, the meal Adrien had cooked smelled delicious and it would be rude to not eat it with him… 

_Relax,_ she told herself. _I’ll finish in time. It’ll be okay._

Marinette breathed in a full body inhale, then let it out slowly. “Okay,” she said. “Okay, let’s eat.” 

Adrien’s eyes crinkled and she felt herself relax slightly. “Just sit,” he told her. “I’m supposed to pamper you today.” 

The table was already set, so Marinette slid into the chair as Adrien set down her plate in front of her. On it were the eggs he had been frying, a scallion pancake, strawberries, and a generous serving of hash browns. Ever since his father had been defeated, Adrien started dropping by their family’s bakery more and more, and her mother had taken to both feeding him and teaching him how to properly cook. It turned out that Adrien had what Sabine called _the_ Culinary Touch, because once he started learning, everything he made was heavenly. 

Her mug was set down before her, and Marinette let out a squeak of delight. “You learned how to do this?” she asked, beaming at the cream heart decorated perfectly on top. 

Adrien gave her a cheeky grin. “I love you a latte,” he announced proudly. 

Marinette moaned. “You ruined it.” 

“Nah, you love my puns.” 

“I love a lot of things about you, but your internet-stolen puns aren’t one of them.” 

He feigned hurt, clutching his chest. “All of this,” he cried, gesturing grandly, “was for that pun. I only ask for a minuscule amount of appreciation, Bugaboo, yet you wound me with your insults—”

“Shut up, drama queen,” Marinette laughed, picking up her utensils. “Ugh, I’ve been craving scallion pancakes for so long. And you make these _exactly_ like my mom.”

  
Adrien preened. “We established that I _am_ your mother last night,” he reminded her. 

“I don’t claim responsibility for anything I said, agreed to, or didn’t agree to last night. Also, how did you get my transformation off?” 

It was Adrien’s turn to groan. “I had to bribe you into saying _Tikki, spots off,_ ” he grumbled. “You don’t know how hard it was. For someone who put up such a struggle about not wanting to sleep, as soon as you touched the bed, you were out like a light.” 

Marinette, not remembering anything that happened last night, was more than happy not to recall. “But you managed it in the end, didn’t you?” 

“But at what cost?” Adrien speared a hashbrown. “What would Paris think to know that their beloved Ladybug was actually such a bratty menace?” 

Torn between curious and mortified, Marinette asked, “What did I do?” 

Adrien gave her a wicked little grin. “I’m not telling,” he sang. 

Not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing her beg for the answer, Marinette dug back into her breakfast and tried to appear disinterested. Apparent lack of interest was always the easiest way for Adrien to crack. 

It only took a minute or so before he spoke up again. “Do you want to know what you did?” 

Marinette arched an eyebrow at him. “You’re asking, not me.” 

“C’mon, humour me, _buginette.”_

“Only because you said so, _chaton._ What deal with the devil did you strike last night?” 

He grinned. “I think I’ll save that for another time. You need to get to work soon.” 

Marinette glared at him, mentally filing away the fact that she was going to wiggle the information out of him one way or another. Stuffing the last piece of scallion pancake into her mouth, she sat back with a content sigh. “This was good.” 

“ _And_ it was a well balanced meal,” Adrien added drily, also cleaning his plate. “Which you should be eating despite the fact that you have a final project due. I saw at least three Chinese take-outs in your trash can.” 

“One was from last week!” 

Adrien wrinkled his nose. “Is that supposed to be better or worse?” 

Shaking her head, she smiled at him instead. “Thank you,” Marinette told Adrien, and she meant it. “You’re the best.” 

He returned the smile, green eyes crinkling. Back in lycée, her heart would’ve turned to mush if he smiled at her in such a way. Now, five years later, Marinette was no closer to stopping the butterflies in her stomach. It wasn’t her fault he had such a lovely smile. 

Adrien was the first to look away, sweeping her empty plate from in front of her in one smooth movement. “I’ll do the dishes,” he offered. “Finish your project, and maybe we can cook dinner together.” 

Before Marinette could agree, he leaned down and planted a quick kiss against her cheek in one fluid movement. “Good luck. I’m sure it’ll be amazing.” 

She stared at him for a couple seconds longer as he headed towards the kitchen. She didn’t deserve Adrien. Amazing, kindhearted, hardworking, considerate Adrien who was everything anybody could ever ask for. 

“Marinette?” he stuck his head out. “I love you a latte.” 

She groaned. Of course he had to pun.

"I also love you a latte," she replied reluctantly. 

(All the embarrassment was worth the grin that spread across his face.) 

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr at [e-milieeee!](https://e-milieeee.tumblr.com/)


End file.
